


aloft on the wind

by weatheredlaw



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dragon Age Lore, Dragons, Established Feelings, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 00:48:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6032101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It turns out, a great many things simply come down to a matter of translation - something Cassandra Pentaghast knows and understands quite well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	aloft on the wind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OrilliaOrange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrilliaOrange/gifts).



> belated birthday fic for orillia. <3

_“And though I came to forget or regret all I have ever done, yet would I remember that once I saw the dragons aloft on the wind at sunset above the western isles; and I would be content.”_ – Ursula LeGuin, “The Farthest Shore”

 

* * *

 

In her earliest memory, Cassandra is sat upon her father’s lap, a heavy book resting on her knees. “These,” he says to her, “are dragons.”

“Uncle says we kill them.”

“Your uncle is wrong, because he is afraid. He doesn’t respect things that he does not understand. But we understand dragons, so we do not kill them.”

Her mother looks up from where she is cutting Anthony’s hair in front of the fireplace. “Do not badmouth your brother in front of the children.”

“My brother is a fool, but it is only because he doesn’t know better. We know better, don’t we Sprout?” He tickles her side, and she giggles and laughs in his arms, kicking the book to the floor in her excitement.

When her father has retrieved it again, and they have settled, she turns the page with sticky, growing fingers, and says to him, “If we don’t kill them, papa, then what do we do with dragons?”

From her place in front of the hearth, Cassandra’s mother smiles, and Anthony pouts as another strand of his precious head of curls lands at her feet.

“That is a good question, my heart. You know that we speak Nevarran, yes?” She nods. “And the people in Val Royeaux, they speak Orlesian?”

“ _Oui._ ”

“Clever girl,” he teases, and kisses her cheek. “Dragons speak a language that is all their own. It is our duty, as the last _good_ and noble Pentaghasts, to learn their language, and use it to help.”

“Help the dragons?”

“Yes. And the people.” He closes the book. “It is a terrible thing to slay a dragon without trying to understand it first.” He sets his daughter down onto the floor before kissing the top of her head. “Remember that.”

Years later, when the dragon that will make her famous lies dead at her feet, Cassandra feels the weight of that tome in her hands, and vows not to destroy a creature like it ever again.

 

* * *

 

“It’s just up ahead then, isn’t it?” Trevelyan peers over the ridge, his dusty hair made lighter by the ever shifting sand of the Western Approach. “Good place to camp, yes?”

Cassandra drags her sleeve over her brow, muddy now with sweat and sand. “I do see some of the scouts, Inquisitor.”

“Lovely,” Dorian says brightly. “I’ve been waiting _hours_ to get a better view of those rocks beyond the horizon.” He peers dramatically over the crest of the hill as they finally reached the border of the camp. “Ah, what a pity. They are like all the others.”

Varric snorts. “How awful for you.”

“Indeed,” Dorian says. “Well, at least we’ll be in good company. The stars here are spectacular once that _awful_ sun finally sets.” He tosses his staff into the sand and collapses onto a log by the fire. Harding glances up.

“You’re a bit late,” she chides, tone teasing. Cassandra does not miss the light blush that decorates her cheeks alongside her freckles when she looks up at Trevelyan. “There’s someone looking for you down there, at the bottom of the hill.”

“Oh?” Trevelyan glances down the rocky slope – a man, Orlesian from the looks of his mask, has set up a tent and a table, spread out with books and papers weighted down with heavy stones. “Well, the day is young.”

“I will join you,” Cassandra says, and tightens her sword and scabbard. They have camped in a decent spot – the wind does not seem to blow here. She takes flask of water from a passing scout and follows the Inquisitor down the hill. Behind them, Varric tosses his filthy duster into the mouth of a tent. “If you get sand _everywhere_ again, you will sleep outside in it.”

“Easy, Seeker. You won’t have any grit in your smalls.” He snaps his finger. “That’s right, I forgot. You don’t wear any.”

Trevelyan raises his hand. “Quiet. Bicker when you’re married, please.” Cassandra opens her mouth to dispute that potential future, but the Inquisitor is already making introductions with the Orlesian. “Good evening, sir. I heard you were looking for me?”

The man is deep in a text and muttering to himself. He doesn’t appear to see them. Trevelyan leans forward, placing his head directly over the pages. The Orlesian looks up.

“Oh. _Oh_ , it is you. You are the Inquisitor, yes?”

“I am.”

“Excellent. I had spotted your scouts as they made camp earlier this morning. The dwarf told me you would be arriving, but she predicted it some hours sooner than this.”

“Red Templars tend to slow things down,” Varric drawls. “I see you’ve been left alone.”

“If only that were true. My companions have all gone missing, and a great many of my supplies have not made it here.” The man huffs. “I suspect I know the reason. My name is Frederic of Serault. You are Inquisitor Trevelyan, of course.” He glances toward Varric and Cassandra. “Your own companions?”

Trevelyan nods. “Some of them. Varric Tethras, here—”

“The author. But of course.”

“And Cassandra Pentaghast.”

Frederic stills. Cassandra sees his beady little eyes blink rapidly in the growing moonlight. “Pentaghast? Of Nevarra?”

“…Yes.”

He makes a noise, diving into his tent for a few moments.

“Can’t we go anywhere without someone knowing Cassandra?” Varric asks from behind her.

Trevelyan chuckles. “Comes with the dragon slayer territory, I suspect.”

“I…” Cassandra looks past them, into the drifts of sand that stretch on for miles. “I suppose.”

“ _Of course!_ ” Frederic returns, brandishing a thin book. “Ah, it is a miracle. The Maker as brought you to me, Lady Pentaghast.” He trembles, nearly tumbling to his knees and practically throwing the book at her. “The last dragon slayer of your family. You will be the one to help me complete my research. _You_ will be the one to slay the Abyssal High Dragon.”

Cassandra scowls. Varric chokes on his own laughter. “ _What?_ ” they say in unison.

Frederic opens the book. “It says here, if my translation of the text is accurate, that—”

“Your translation is like any other translation,” Cassandra says, wrenching the book from his fingers. “ _Incorrect._ ”

“But I—”

“This is the official record of the Nevarran royal families, yes?”

“It is.”

She flips through the pages, settling on her own. “ _The Pentaghast family tree  is considered to be splintered into three factions. Those loyal to the King, those who have left their homeland, and those who remained, choosing to be independent of all factions. As of 9:05 Dragon, they are considered to be led by Mattias Pentaghast, sixty-fourth in line for the Nevarran throne. Mattias Pentaghast, unlike his ancestors, communes with dragons, and has fought for their preservation since his youth._ ” She snaps the book shut. “Your translation was incorrect. I am not a dragon slayer.”

“But in Orlais—”

“In Orlais, a young girl forgot the lessons of her father, and put the life of the Divine before the life of a beast. I do not regret it, and I would do it over again. But I will not slay your dragon, or _anyone’s_ , for that matter.” She turns on her heel, leaving the three men to stare after her.

 

* * *

 

It takes time before the Inquisitor and Varric return, murmuring to themselves. Trevelyan settles next to Cassandra, reaching out to the fire and warming his hands. The desert has cooled drastically since the moon has risen.

“Well, we won’t be killing any dragons for him, I told him that.”

Varric snorts. “He’s fishy.”

“I agree,” the Inquisitor says. “But it’s probably just because he’s Orlesian.”

“They’re quite suspicious,” Dorian says from the edge of his tent.

“If you’ve dragged sand in there,” Trevelyan warns, and Dorian laughs, ducking back inside and closing it up. “All the same,” he says. “We told him we wouldn’t be slaying dragons for nothing. He claims there’s something to it, but I won’t have you put off by the whole thing.”

Cassandra stiffens. “If the Inquisition has something to gain by way of…of putting _down_ the beast, then I will not—”

The Inquisitor puts a hand on her shoulder. “Cassandra. It’s alright, you know, to put yourself ahead of duty in this one thing. I don’t _need_ to kill a dragon, and frankly, I don’t want to.”

“Lot of effort,” Varric says, stretching. “You know the drill.” He stifles a yawn and stands. “I’m off to bed. Don’t brood too long, Seeker. I’m a delicate tent partner, you know that.”

“Liar,” she mutters, kicking sand after him as he goes. He grins, disappearing into the tent. Cassandra turns to the Inquisitor, frowning at the expression on his face. “What _now?_ ”

“Oh, nothing,” he says. “Only, I worry when you two finally _do_ marry, you’ll have run out of things to bicker about.”

“That would be impossible on all counts.”

Trevelyan snorts. “Well, that’s your opinion I suppose.”

Cassandra sighs. “Aside from all _that_ , I…appreciate your understanding of the matter.”

“Certainly. Lost in translation, I suspect.”

“Nevarran is a difficult language to carry over into the Common Tongue. Many things have been lost or skewed. The smallest things, it seems.”

Trevelyan nods. “Like your family’s history.”

“Only those parts no one seems to care about. All the rest…”

“Of course.” The Inquisitor stands. “You’re a vital part of this Inquisition. I won’t have myself or anyone else running all about trying to offend you. Even Bull will understand, I’m sure.”

Cassandra nods. “I suspect he will.”

“Goodnight, Cassandra. And don’t wake the delicate dwarf, please. For all our sakes.” He ducks into his own tent. A small scuffle with Dorian ensues, followed by a fair amount of violently muttered Tevine. Eventually, the camp is quiet again. Cassandra watches Harding give a few directions, and some of Leliana’s scouts vanish into the night. A crow flies back toward the direction of Skyhold.

“Can’t sleep, Seeker Pentaghast?” Cassandra shakes her head. “Yeah, it’s hard for me sometimes, too.”

“You of all people should have a good night’s rest.”

Harding shrugs. Then: “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Do you think…I mean, would it seem strange to you if…” She gazes past Cassandra, eyes falling on the Inquisitor’s tent.

Cassandra reaches out, placing a hand over the dwarf’s own. “I find nothing particularly strange anymore, especially those matters concerning the heart.”

“Oh!” Then, softer: “Oh.” Harding smiles. “This is because of you and Varric, isn’t it?”

Cassandra frowns. “There is nothing between myself and Varric.”

“Well not like _that_ , but—” She shrugs. “I get paid to spot the details, Seeker Pentaghast. That’s all I’m saying.”

It’s Cassandra’s turn to blush, now, and she excuses herself, making her way silently toward the tent she shares with Varric. He doesn’t move as she lays down on her bedroll, but she is aware all the time of Harding’s knowing smile, boring through sides of the tent.

 

* * *

 

They do not slay the Abyssal High Dragon, and Bull is as understanding as Cassandra suspected.

“I don’t plan on keeping my hands to myself once this is over though. I hope you know that.”

Cassandra shrugs. “Perhaps I could convince you to consider another reaction, the next time you see a dragon.”

“I have a reaction. I think they’re beautiful.” They’re walking together toward the sparring ring to train recruits together. “But they’re savage, Seeker. Raw, uncontrolled power. Needs to be reigned in.”

“Death is not always the solution.”

Bull shrugs. “Maybe so. Maybe you could convince me otherwise.” He watches approvingly as she swings herself over the fence. “But I doubt that.”

They move through the recruits, making their way toward Cullen. He is _bellowing_ at a young man who appears to be holding his shield upside down, but his expression brightens as they near. “Ah, good, you’ve returned, Cassandra. I heard there were…interesting _linguistical_ developments in the Approach.”

“You have already spoken to the Inquisitor?”

“I have. Just this morning. His reports are always colorful. Full of unnecessary details and descriptions of interesting rocks and piles of sand. Simply wonderful,” Cullen says dryly, scanning the recruits. “He went on for a great while about the Orlesian scholar. How you bested him in a game of translation. It was all very thrilling.”

“Sounds it,” Bull says, hefting an axe into his hands and giving it a good spin. “The Seeker thinks she may be able to convince me to _listen_ to a dragon before I put an axe through its skull.”

“However _crude_ your methodology may _be_ , Bull, you have a point.” Cullen glances at Cassandra. “You must discuss this with me further, at some point.”

“Perhaps,” she agrees. A small ripple goes through the recruits.

“Oi, you hear that? Seeker Pentaghast’s a _dragon_ whisperer.”

Someone snorts. “Isn’t that what they call Qunari cock?”

“ _Silence!_ ” Cullen shouts. “Keep your mouths _shut_ , or I’ll have both Seeker Pentaghast _and_ the Iron Bull beat you until they’re spoon feeding you in the infirmary.” He glances at Cassandra. “Apologies. They are… _rough_ , around the edges.”

Bull chuckles, passing Cassandra a sword.

“Not to worry,” she says coolly. “I will straighten them out before the sun has set. I may not _be_ the dragon slayer, but I certainly do not let an insult pass without notice.” She pulls the offenders out of the crowd.

By the end of the day, the entire lot of them are immobile, and Cassandra finds she certainly _does_ feel much better.

 

* * *

 

It was, she supposes, only a matter of time before Varric brought up the ordeal.

“Makes it all a bit less dramatic, if you think about it. Dragon _tamer_ doesn’t really have that sort of style. Dragon _slayer_ strikes fear into the hearts of pimple-faced recruits.”

“Bull says they’re absolutely terrified of her,” Dorian says, smiling. “It would appear our dear Seeker can accomplish whatever she feels like, with or without the dreadful moniker.”

“Yeah, but _communes with dragons?_ Also, follow-up question—”

“Of course,” Dorian mutters.

“What if your dragon-whispering technique doesn’t _work?_ What if she’s still angry and wants to _eat me_ , which is an absolutely reality and possibility. The Emprise is crawling with them.”

“They are nesting,” she says. “They have young. Building strongholds and carting red lyrium in and out of the place disturbs their rest. A High Dragon as no desire to eat you out of _spite_ , Varric. She does so because she has been provoked. Dragon adages are not simply lines with throw at children to keep them out of trouble.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hawke poked a sleeping dragon in the eye once,” Varric says. “Didn’t end well for us. Or the dragon.”

Cassandra shakes her head. “And you wonder why you have such terrible luck with the creatures.”

“ _Speaking_ of dragons and the Emprise and _all_ that nonsense.” The Inquisitor ducks his head between the two of them. “What if I took my three favorite people at this table—” The hall is empty save for the four of them. His voice echoes. “And we went traipsing through the snow together.”

“If you’re going after dragons, you must bring Bull.” Dorian raises his hands. “You’re mage enough for the both of us.”

The Inquisitor puts a hand over his heart. “ _That_ is the _sweetest_ thing you’ve ever said to me, Pavus.” He sighs. “Well, what about the two of you? And before you ask, yes I asked other people before you, and, yes, I _am_ lying about that.”

Varric snorts. “Yeah, alright. So long as we check a few things off my list.”

“Of course, of course. You sure I can’t convince you, Dorian?”

“Do you long for the pleasure of my company so greatly?” he asks, fluttering his lashes. “Actually, it isn’t anything about you, or the Emprise. I’m still caught up in translating the family name for Corypheus. Our little desert excursion set me back some days. I’ve a mountain of correspondence and texts to translate.”

“Very well,” Trevelyan says. “I’ll take Bull. Maker knows we’ll need him out there. Absolutely _crawling_ with Red Templars.”

“Don’t forget dragons,” Varric says and gives Cassandra a gentle nudge.

 

* * *

 

_“Always remember, a dragon’s home is its most prized possession. Beyond the gold of any myth, or the treasures of any tall tale. When you disturb the nest of a High Dragon, you ask for the greatest penalty, Sprout.”_

Her father’s words come to her, unbidden, as they stumble upon the ice nest of the Kaltenzahn. She is beautiful, and the largest dragon Cassandra has seen in some time.

“Think you could talk her down?” Bull says behind her.

Cassandra spins. “This is not a _game._ This is not a challenge or a competition. If you’d like to go forward and find yourself _killed_ , then by all means do so. A Kaltenzahn does not settle in the middle of _nowhere_ for no reason.”

“Where’d she come from?” Varric asks, peering over the wall. The creature seems peaceful enough, occasionally, calling out to her young farther below.

“The Hunterhorn Mountains. They were all driven away in 9:30, presumably by darkspawn.”

Bull grunts. “Those shits drove an entire flock of dragons out of their home?”

“Not likely,” Cassandra says. “Most likely an Archdemon was responsible.”

The Inquisitor frowns. “Corypheus?”

“Hawke didn’t unseal Corypheus for another year. Had to be another one.”

“We can debate semantics later,” Bull says. “Are we killing the thing or ignoring it?”

“It has to be placated somehow,” Trevelyan says. “Cassandra, if you could…I mean if you were able to—”

“Not _alone_ she isn’t!” Varric shifts Bianca in his hands. “Seeker, you wanna go play house with a dragon, that’s fine. But we’re coming with you.”

“If you approach with weapons, she will attack.”

“Then I’ll go with you,” Varric says, and hands his crossbow off the the Inquisitor.

“Don’t be stupid,” she snaps. “I can handle this on my own.”

Varric scowls. “Today might be a _great_ day for you to admit I’m _not_ an idiot, _and_ that sometimes even you need help, Seeker.”

“ _Enough!_ ” The Inquisitor grips Bianca tighter. “If you’re going to go, then _go._ You can fight about how much you hate one another later.  If it seems dangerous, make a run for the edge. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Right.” Varric nods, and the two of them venture out from behind the wall, making their way up the stairs.

Cassandra huffs. “I do not thing you are an idiot, Varric. I would simply prefer you not get killed because of me.”

“I could think of worse ways to go.”

“Well, I could think of worse companions to die alongside,” she says, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Varric smiles. “Same here, Seeker.” The moment they reach the top of the stairs, however, his smile falters. “That’s a big dragon.”

“She is certainly large.”

“Bad idea, Seeker. This was a _bad idea._ ”

“She must be reasoned with.”

“She’s a _dragon!_ She can’t be _reasoned_ with!”

Cassandra breathes. “Dragons speak a language that is all their own. It is our duty, as the last good and noble Pentaghasts, to learn their language, and use it to help.”

“You’re the only Pentaghast here,” he points out.

She turns to him. “Then be one alongside me, if just for today.”

Varric grumbles. “Worst marriage proposal ever, for the record. But alright. Varric Pentaghast, at your service.”

“Good. Your first duty as a Pentaghast is to _stop talking_ , and let me handle this.”

Varric smirks. “Right behind you…wife.”

Cassandra ignores him, and takes another tentative step toward the dragon. She sees them, that much is certain, but Cassandra raises her hands in mock surrender, and Varric mimics her stance behind her. The Kaltenzahn stomps her feet, swinging her tail back and forth a handful of times.

_“She will never be happy to see you, but if you submit to her, a dragon’s pride will always win out.”_

Cassandra bends her knees. “Do as I do,” she whispers. Varric nods. They fall to their knees in front of the creature. She watches them for some time, considering their position and her own.

Eventually, she stoops, lowering her head.

_“If she is pleased with your symbolic offering, she will show it. Do not touch her yet. Instead, give her your scent.”_

Cassandra slowly reaches down, feeling for a thick shard of ice and wrenching it from the frozen top of the tower.

“ _Seeker_ , what are you—”

_“Bleeding is easiest.”_

It happens quickly, blood streaming and staining the sleeve of her tunic immediately. The dragon shakes her head and Varric swears.

“Shut up!” Cassandra hisses. “Shut up, and do not move.”

The ground shakes as the dragon approaches, her deep breaths taking in the scent of Cassandra’s blood.

_“A dragons’ sense of smell is keen. They can decipher emotion from disease. Purity from selfishness. If you are strong and good of heart, a dragon will know. If your intent is to calm and not to harm, she will know. If she finds in you a worthy opponent, she will extend her neck and allow you to touch her. Do not look her in the eye before this happens. Only after, when she has submitted.”_

Cassandra holds perfectly still, her pulse throbbing throughout her body, blood still sliding down her arm. She feels weak, but her father’s advice still rings perfectly true. She thinks, not for the first time, that Frederic of Serault is an idiot. She wishes she could tell Varric – he would certainly agree.

Suddenly the dragon lays her head on the ice, and sighs contentedly. Cassandra stands on trembling legs, and reaches out to touch the creature’s face.

“She is rather like a cat.”

“You’re fucking insane,” Varric mutters, but his voice is tinged with a hint of…pride, she thinks. Cassandra spares him a look, and he is grinning. “What now?”

“I do not know. Father said dragons understand all tongues, but he always chose to speak to them in Nevarran.”

“So speak Nevarran. I haven’t heard it from you yet.”

Cassandra nods, and the tongue of her homeland spills forth freely.

 

* * *

 

“ _To the Seeker!_ ”

The soldier raise their glasses. Cassandra can still hear the echo of the dragons’ wings as they took off, one by one, their younglings settled on their backs. It beats in her ears, a drumming noise that constantly reminds her –

_You are the last good and noble Pentaghast. You spoke, and the dragon listened._

_Today, you helped._

The party seems to move on without her. Bull is holding court in the tavern, retelling the story of how he doubted the Seeker who could talk down a dragon, but how he was brought around to her way of thinking. For now.

“You look beat, Seeker.” Cassandra turns and finds Varric extending his arm. “Let’s take a walk.”

“Of course,” she says, and follows him out into the night.

They walk for some time in silence, until Varric clears his throat. “There’s…something I’d like to run by you. If you’d let me.”

“Oh?”

“It’s in my room, if you’re comfortable joining me—”

“Varric.” Her tone is sharp, and it gets his attention. “You followed me, without question, into the maw of a beast. Whatever you need from me, I will do my best to give it.”

He laughs. “Tall order.”

“You are worthy of it.”

“Yeah, well couldn’t let you talk to dragons all by yourself, could I?”

“No,” she says quietly, and suddenly remembers Harding’s words. “No you could not.”

Varric smiles and gestures for her to follow him, unlocking the door to his room and leading her inside. “I’ve got some writing I’d like to run past you. And before you ask,” he adds quickly, “it’s not _Swords and Shields._ It’s…something new.”

“Oh?”

“And I can’t…continue on, in good faith. Not without your approval.” He takes a few sheets of paper from his desk and presses them into her hands. “Considering I stole the words for the title right out of your mouth.”

Cassandra looks down at the pages caught between her fingers.

_The Lady, Good and Noble_

“Varric…”

“I’ll be the first one to admit that a romance serial about a _dragon slayer_ and her dwarf sidekick is a lot more interesting to my editor than the one about the dragon…talker, I guess. But she didn’t see it happen, so she doesn’t really have a say in it.”

“I see.”

“So do I,” he says, and takes the papers from her. “I want to write a book about you, but I want…to be in it. If that makes any sense. We’ve done good work together. We’ve gotten _better._ ”

Cassandra smiles. “We have.”

“Maybe it’s all in my head, or quite possibly indigestion. I mean, I keep seeing you _bleeding_ in front of a dragon, and my brain manufactures a dozen scenarios where that goes ass-up, but you—”

Cassandra grabs him by the front of his shirt, and pulls him into a searing, silencing kiss.

“I want you in the book as well,” she says, once she draws back. “I want you in the book. And I…” She glances up at him through her lashes.

“Oh, please say what I think you’re going to say—”

“I want you inside of me.”

He groans. “ _Thank_ the blessed Maker.”

 

* * *

 

The first slide of his cock against her thigh misses spectacularly, and she is laughing too hard to realize he is perfectly lined up the second time around to thrust into her, _hard._ The noise in her throat arcs up, almost into a scream. Cassandra gasps, and Varric moves. With a twist, she turns them and raises herself over him, taking his hands and clasping them over her breasts as she rolls with every thrust.

“ _Shit_ , Seeker.”

“We could have died.”

“We run the risk every time we get out of bed in the morning.”

She smiles at him. “Then I suppose we will have to get out of bed together.”

“Wouldn’t want to waste a good opportunity,” Varric says, grunting with the effort of fucking _up_ and into her. “Unless you’re trying to kill me. Because this might actually kill me.”

“You stared into the mouth of a dragon today.”

He moans, taking over again and rolling her onto her back. “Stop reminding me,” he mutters, and thrusts into her without abandon. Cassandra reaches between her legs, touches the swollen knot of flesh just there, feeling his cock sliding into her over and over again –

She comes, and he chases after her, spilling into her with a groan. It is quick and over far too soon, but she is content and sated and pleased.

After a day such as this, what more could a good and noble lady ask for?

Varric sighs, pulling out and collapsing onto his back. “You know that I’m crazy about you, right?”

“Yes.” She turns to her side. “I am crazy about you as well.”

“Funny way of showing it, proposing marriage on our first dragon outing.”

She shrugs. “I think my mother proposed to my father.”

“That’s the least surprising thing you’ve said all day, honestly.” He kisses her nose. “I heard you and Harding, that night. When we met Frederic.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. Couldn’t sort it out at first, but I caught on pretty quick.”

“You are faster than I.”

“Took you a while, huh?”

Cassandra moves closer. “I will admit that before today I…was not sure. Of my own feelings, or of yours.”

“Talking to dragons really brings it out for you?” He huffs. “We don’t have to do that every time we need to figure part of this out, do we? Like I can just eventually tell you that I love you, or that I want to name our first son after Hawke?”

“Not after the dragon?”

He shoves her playfully and kisses her forehead. “No, Cassandra Pentaghast. Not _Kaltenzahn_.”

They tease one another for a while after that, but eventually, Cassandra asks him a question, and Varric begins snoring in response. She sighs, going to blow out the candles in the room before returning to him, sliding beneath the blankets and closing her eyes.

_You are the last good and noble Pentaghast. You spoke to the dragon, and you helped. You spoke to the dragon, and the dragon helped you._

“I am the only dragon you shall ever have to face again,” she murmurs, lifting his hand and pressing his knuckles to her lips. “ _That_ is a promise.”


End file.
